Death's Childe
by ClarisseSelwyn
Summary: When Harry wakes up after his meeting with Dumbledore at the eerie white Kings Cross, he finds himself not on the forest floor but on a bed. Full summary and teaser inside. Slow burn.
1. Summary and Teaser

**Summary  
** Death has watched their master walk to his grave one time too many. When their master end up in their domain - because purgatory belong to the dead - Death sees an opportunity and decides to take it. There's no place for morals if you're Death, and purgatory visits only gives you so much time to plan.

Harry James Potter wakes up not on the floor of the forbidden forest, but in 1938, de-aged, lost and perceived as female. He can't use his true name, but why does the name he chose have to be that one? The name that Tom Riddle once mentioned in the Chamber of Secrets...

 **Teaser**  
Once you hear something strange, it can be very hard to forget. For Harry James Potter, it were the words of a memory; of someone less than a shadow. Of course, when he had heard the words at the mere age of twelve, they made no lasting impression. Now on the other hand…

 _"You look remarkably like someone I knew… James, Evan James. Any relation?"_

 _James, Evan James_

 _Evan James_

 _Evan_

 _James_

Of all the names that he could have chosen for himself to get through this new predicament, why did he have to chose that one?

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

Let's go back, to before the predicament. Back to when Harry James Potter had a choice to make.

* * *

"I've got to go back, haven't I?"

"That is up to you."

"I've got a choice?"

"Oh yes." Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in Kings Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to… let's say… board a train."

"And where would it take me?"

"On." Dumbledore said simply.

[...]

"I think," Dumbledore said, "that if you choose to return, there is a chance that he may be finished for good. I cannot promise it. But I know this, Harry, that you have less to fear from returning here than he does."

Perhaps Dumbledore already knew that Harry would not wake up on the floor of the forbidden forest, perhaps he had no idea that his student Evan James was the same as Harry Potter. Nonetheless, Harry cursed Dumbledore's words when he woke up.

* * *

Had this been another universe, perhaps the one where Harry was destined to marry Ginny and end up a copy of his parents for all intentions, then he would likely had woken up on that forest floor. As this is not that universe, and as Dumbledore is not the omniscient old man that he pretends to be, he does not.

Death, tired of being only a figure mentioned in children's stories, manipulated purgatory as was their right, and sent back their master not to the battle of Hogwarts in 1998, but to another time.

And that is where our story begins.

 **A/N: Obviously I don't own the scene between Harry and Dumbledore. It's taken from the book, with minimal changes made to fit the plot and my writing style.**

 **If you dislike trans characters or self inserts, this is a good place to stop reading.**

 **And if you read my other works, feel free to yell at me for starting something new.  
My planned updates for October are as following (in no particular order):  
The essence of red poppies  
Riddle's Evil Inc (AO3 only)  
Flight from Death (AO3 only)**

 **and this one**


	2. Prologue

Bright mist filled his vision and obscured Dumbledore from view; or rather Dumbledore dematerialized into cloudy vapour. His surroundings lost shape and contours until white mist was the only thing left. Harry could not help but feel worried that he would be stuck in this place. He had Dumbledore's last words ringing in his head.

 _"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"_

And then it all went black.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

"It's time to wake up, childe."

The voice was chilling, like rain beating down hard against window-glass or like the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. The similes to autumn were comforting although the voice was not.

It took Harry a moment to realize that he could not place the voice, and yet another to realize that he was not lying on the cold forest floor; he was engulfed by a soft bed and a multitude of blankets. His mind could not picture any context for in which this situation would be logical - Voldemort should be showcasing his supposedly dead body at this moment in time. Unsure about the situation, and because he could feel an aura of impatience emitting from the unidentified speaker, Harry slowly opened his eyes.

The split second before the world came into focus, Harry felt extreme dread embrace him; it was as fleeting as a mother's touch. Had Dumbledore not promised that he would have less to fear from returning than Voldemort? But then, he had not truly returned to where he left. He cursed Dumbledore's name anyway.

And then the world came into definition.

The room was surprisingly colourful, in the same horrid shade of orange that the Chudley Cannons sported. It made the dark shape taking up his view stand out all that much more. For one bizarre moment, Harry thought that it was Voldemort, but the thought of Voldemort being a Chudley Cannons fan was laughable. The lack of serpentine qualities was also a clear indication that it was in fact not the dark lord; actually there was a lack of facial qualities all around. A white skull looked back at him from underneath a black hood; the contrast horrifying and the orange backdrop reminding him of a tacky Halloween commercial.

He couldn't bring himself to feel the amount of fear that the situation demanded, and in contrast felt rather comfortable. No matter how you looked at it, it was definitely a better situation than the one that he had expected to end up in.

"Are you Death?" Harry asked, intending it as a tasteless joke. He had technically just died after all, and he had doubts concerning the realness of the skull.

"Yes." the skull answered. He really should have expected it. Didn't explain the tacky orange though. He didn't dare ask about if.

"Am I still… well, in my head?"

"No, this is real, childe."

"Okay. Sure. That works. Why, though? And how?"

"You were in purgatory; my domain. I could not let you slip away."

"But why?"

"You are my master, childe."

"Eh.." Harry said awkwardly. "Would you mind repeating that?"

Death sighed, which was quite a feat considering that the skull was likely attached to a skeleton underneath those robes, leaving no lungs to sigh with. Or organs to speak with, now that Harry was considering it. Would it be awfully rude of him to ask how it worked from a biological point of view? Probably, and the answer was surely magic anyway. It did not stop him from being curious though.

"You collected all of my hallows. The cloak by birthright, the wand by conquest, and the stone by the way of gift. All the requirements for becoming the master of death."

It certainly didn't sound like a title, the way that Death said it. Harry was glad, he would not know what to do with a title like that. Besides, he had too many already; the Daily Prophet had given him enough titles for a lifetime.

"Have you brought me here to kill me? Because the orange is rather off-putting if you're going for intimidation…"

"You do not sound concerned that you're faced with death." Death paused for a moment. "Literally."

Harry couldn't help but give a small groan of annoyance. First Chudley Cannons orange, and now bad jokes? Death reminded him of Ron, which wasn't a connection that he thought Ron would appreciate very much. It felt like a conversation best left for too many glasses of firewhiskey. At least it made the odds seem to weigh in his favor; he doubted that this was how Death planned to kill him.

"Have you met Voldemort?" Harry asked. "About this tall," he stood up on the bed in a fluid moment to get his point across. "Almost as pale as you, and no nose? Red eyes?"

Death tilted their head to the side, an aura of amusement emitting from them. Harry took it as a gesture that he should move on.

"Well. Voldemort is horrifying. You're just a living skeleton in a black robe." he explained with a shrug, and sat back down with a bounce. Now that he was no longer distracted by not being where he expected, or questioning if he was going to die, or caught up in the moment, Harry got the awful feeling that his body was not the same body that he had died in.

He took a deep breath before he slowly turned his gaze downwards. Blinking did not make the picture go away. Nor did closing his eyes and counting to ten. He opened them just to confirm that what he was seeing was real, and proceeded to pinch himself just in case this was all a dream.

It did not work.

He had the body of an eight year old child; or rather, the body of his eleven year old self.

"I took the liberty to give you the so-called female body." Death added helpfully. Harry snapped his eyes up at the skeleton, a horrified grimace on his face.

"I've always wanted a daughter." Death continued offhandedly, as if it in any way explained that Harry had been de-aged.

"The state of my body does not determine my gender; if you wanted a daughter then you're out of luck." Harry said. He remembered Hermione's lecture about gender very clearly; she had given it to him and Ron after Ron's hurtful comment about her being a girl. She had taken it as hurtful because of the way that Ron said it; making it sound as if he had not perceived her as one before he needed a date for the yule ball; and continued on to reveal that she was in fact a transgirl.

Harry wondered if it would make him a transboy if he had been one to begin with. Although Hermione had been a girl to begin with, her body had just not been designated female at birth. If he ever got back, he would ask, although he was afraid of offending her.

"It was worth a try. I'm unable to change your body back, as my powers outside of death and the death realm are limited." Death answered. Harry couldn't help but pout; he would be stuck in the wrong body until who knew when.

"What about de-aging me?" he demanded.

"Oh, that's easy. Welcome to 1938, childe. There's a Hogwarts letter waiting for you."

Harry frowned, something about the year rang a bell. A quick count on his fingers explained why; it was the year that Tom Riddle started Hogwarts. Well, fuck him sideways and twice over, Death had brought him back in time to play nice with the dark lord. That was the only explanation that he could come up with.

"Is there any reason that you want me to change Tom's past instead of killing him in my time?"

"I really don't want to collect a soul destroyed by multiple horcruxes when I have ways of getting the whole one. And isn't it a win-win situation? I get a whole soul, you get to be a saviour by making sure that your unborn parents stay alive and all that yada yada yada."

"But I'm stuck here. I will never see my friends again."

"You get me that soul, and I'll see what I can do."

"...you want me to stay close to Tom until he dies, to make sure that his soul stays whole." Harry pointed out disbelievingly. Death actually shrugged at him.

"I admit that I did not think this through. You can get some death-related powers if it soothes you."

Harry fell back dramatically so that he was sprawled on the bed, looking up at the horrid orange ceiling. He had not expected the ceiling to be orange. He still dared not question it.

"Can I get ghost powers? That would be cool, being able to turn into a ghost. Or reincarnation, so I might actually have a way to get back to my own time."

"Have both. It's not outside my abilities, nor does it make you immortal. Have fun with it. I'll even throw in temporary immortality, so that you don't die before Tom Riddle does."

"Please tell me I won't end up back in this room every time if I die."

"Do you not approve of Albus Dumbledore's guest room?" Death asked curiously. Harry blinked.

"What? Why…? Of all places…?"

"I had to make some sort of arrangements for you. He is the deputy headmaster, and therefore has the means of enrolling you. He personally wrote your Hogwarts letter, although it lacks a name."

"You got Dumbledore to enroll an unnamed student."

"I thought you would appreciate to choose your own name. Do you have one in mind?"

Harry sat up in the bed again. He needed a name that he would listen to… so something that was familiar to him. Yet it shouldn't have any connections to anyone in the past, so he would not be able to go by Potter. Perhaps by Evans… James Evans? Oh. His name would have to sound more unisex, in case anyone ever found out. Could Evan James perhaps work? He could see Evan as a girl's' name, maybe short for Evanna or something. It sounded good, and he would probably be able to listen to it.

"Evan James… I don't need to have a feminine name, right?"

"Evan James, it is." Death answered, and snapped their fingers. The earlier mentioned Hogwarts letter showed up in front of Harry, the name Evan James written on it in green ink. Harry was not going to question how his name ended up written on the letter. He was questioning the feeling of recognition that it gave him, but pushed it aside. It must have been because it was taken from his mother's maiden name and his father's first name.

"Have you given Dumbledore a background story as well?" Harry questioned as he opened the letter.

"Orphaned half-blood with amnesia, found by a nice old squib man and taken here."

"Should I take it as you're the nice old squib man?"

Death gave an eerie impression of a smile and snapped their fingers again. In the cloaked skeleton's place was now a wrinkly old man with grey hair and a pleasant smile.

"And you couldn't have looked like this from the beginning?" Harry asked. It would have felt better to wake up to than a skeleton.

"Let an old man have some fun." Death answered. "I should leave you in Dumbledore's care, or he might get worried that we're alone together for this long. Happy birthday, by the way."

Harry tried to think of something else to say, but Death was out through the door before his mind could come up with any sentences. He could only stare at the door helplessly.

It was that same position that Dumbledore found him in a few minutes later; sitting in a pile of blankets on the bed, staring disbelievingly at the door and clutching the Hogwarts letter in his hands.

 **A/N: Sorry to disappoint any Danny Phantom fans, but I'm not familiar with the series. Harry's powers were found on a superpowers wiki. I do not plan on making him horribly over-powered. Nor do I plan on ever using female pronouns for him in his point of view; other characters will occasionally refer to him as such.**

 **You'll see more of Death in the future, but the next chapter will be focused on Harry, Dumbledore, and the end of summer.**

 **Please review xxx  
**


	3. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry, life just got in the way, as did other ideas. Shoutout to SilentAttendance - your review made me write on this again.  
**

Kind hands pressed a cup of tea into his slightly shaking hands, the smell undeniably lemon. The Hogwarts letter lied forgotten to the side, after he got afraid that he would rip it in pieces. It was almost automatically that Harry raised the cup to his lips to take a sip, only to spit it out moments later. The lemon tea must have been more sugar than water, which in all reality is how he always imagined Dumbledore to drink tea. That doesn't stop it from being absolutely disgusting.

Slightly less kinder hands took the cup back, and Harry couldn't help but wonder about the pettiness, and if he simply never noticed it in his own time. After a few initial blinks, he turned his eyes towards Dumbledore, to be met with ginger hair where he had grown to expect grey.

"Mr Arawn told me that you remembered your name. Miss James, is it?"

"I prefer Mr." Harry corrected quietly. Without the cup in his hands, they fell to writhe in his lap. Where he felt comfortable enough with Death, something about this Dumbledore - the Dumbledore that judged an orphaned boy, and helped create Voldemort by not offering help - didn't sit right with him.

" _Miss_ James, I'm not sure if Mr Arawn informed you - I can see that your letter remains unopened; but you've been enrolled into Hogwarts, the finest magic school in Europe. The school year starts September 1st, and it's currently July 31st. As there's only a month left, I have a lot to do as deputy headmaster. While I appreciate that Mr Arawn brought you to me, I will not have time to care for you."

Harry had to clench his hands to not react unfavourably. Dumbledore knowingly misgendered him directly after he had given his preference, and then went on to boast about Hogwarts, only to finally imply that Harry would have to be put into someone else's care.

"Sir, I prefer Mr," Harry repeated, a bit louder this time. "And Mr Arawn said that I would stay here. _With you_."

"I understand that the amnesia is still affecting you, _Miss_ James," Dumbledore sighed, as if it was a great tragedy that Harry insisted on being called Mr instead. "While Mr Arawn had good intentions, he as a squib couldn't possibly have any idea what responsibility I as deputy headmaster at Hogwarts have. No need to worry though, I have already made other arrangements for you."

Harry didn't bother to correct Dumbledore a third time. Instead he clenched his hands harder, until crescents drawn in red decorated his palms, and the furniture started rattling because of his uncontrollable magic.

"This behaviour will not be tolerated at Hogwarts, Miss James." Dumbledore sighed once more, an act that only infuriated Harry more. He was not the burden in this situation; he could not believe that Death had abandoned him to a neglective man high on power. This was not the old man that he trusted, the wise man he thought of as a father figure. This was a coward of a man who created enemies out of schoolboys. Harry could not have felt more disgusted at this revelation.

The furniture rattled once more before it calmed down, and Harry unclenched his hands.

"Who will you be sending me to, sir?" he asked, voice once more quiet. It would be bad enough when school started and he had to seek Riddle's company - he did not have to make Dumbledore into an enemy early on.

"A dear old friend of mine," Dumbledore was back to sounding kind yet pitying. "Bathilda Bagshot."

Harry's eyes widened slightly. He had been in Bathilda's home only months prior, back in his own time. While that hadn't ended well, he could not help but look forward to living in Godric's Hollow for a month - an experience he could not remember from his own past. He doubted the cottage his parents had lived in would be there, but neither would their graves as they were not yet born.

But wasn't Bathilda the great-aunt to Grindelwald? It was an odd choice that Dumbledore was making, but one that Harry found himself appreciating.

The thought of living in Godric's Hollow - close to where his parents would one day live - made his heart beat faster in his chest. Perhaps he could forgive Death for bringing him to Dumbledore, if he got to spend time in the town where he should have grown up.

"I don't have any things to bring with me, sir." Harry broke the silence that had settled between them. It was true, he only had the clothes that he were wearing; luckily enough, Death had not put him in a dress, but a shirt and pair of trousers that Harry could only assume fit into the Muggle fashion of the time. He did not have his glasses, and Death had not mentioned it, but the only explanation was that his vision had been corrected by the same magic that gave him the wrong body parts. It was likely for the best that he had no visible weakness if he had to befriend Tom Riddle.

"If Bathilda doesn't have anything for you, I can find you some of my sister's old clothes."

Harry politely looked down to not see the pained look that crossed Dumbledore's eyes at the mention of Ariana.

"I'm thankful for everything you've done for me, sir," Harry said, to not let them fall into silence once more. The words were true, though this was not the Dumbledore he would have chosen to say them to. "When will you bring me to my new guardian?"

"Now, if you think that you feel well enough for the trip. We'll apparate."

There was a beat of silence before Harry remembered that he was supposed to suffer from amnesia.

"Apparate?" he questioned. He tried to sound puzzled by the word, but the look in Dumbledore's eyes told him that his acting wasn't very convincing. Hopefully it would not make the professor suspicious of him; it was not his fault that Death chose his cover story and then left him.

"It's a magical form of transportation," Dumbledore started to explain, looking at him closely for any sign of recognition. "You picture the place you want to travel to in your mind, and then turn on the spot to appear there. It's a very advanced form of magic."

"Do I need to do anything?"

"You have to do nothing but hold onto me."

Harry nodded, and carefully got down from the bed. He grabbed the Hogwarts letter more as an afterthought than anything else.

"Oh, but I don't have any money, sir!" he suddenly realised, as he looked at the letter. The words came with a sense of deja-vú, which Harry did his best to ignore. If he remembered correctly, he would be able to meet Hagrid again in only a few years time, and hopefully be able to stop the Chamber of Secrets incident. It were far too early for such plans though - he had yet to even start school.

"There's a fund, from which you'll get a sum of money each school year. I'll leave yours with Bathilda."

Harry chose not to answer; he wasn't convinced that Dumbledore would have mentioned the fund unless he asked. Likely, the man would have expected Bathilda to be generous. Harry didn't want to take advantage of her; it was enough that she had apparently agreed to care for him for a month.

"Come now, Miss James. Bathilda is waiting for us."

Dumbledore gripped his arm before Harry could react with anything besides a flinch, and then apparated them both. The last thing that Harry saw was the horrid orange walls of the guestroom; then everything turned black.

 **A/N: This isn't Dumbledore-bashing, just another idea of what he was like when he was younger. And yes, it'll take a couple of chapters before Hogwarts, and Tom.**


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